And sad, indeed, is that life which sails on its own way, wrapped in its own gloom, giving out no signal and heeding none, hailing not its fellow and heeding no hail. For the gloom will grow greater and greater; there will be no sympathy to tide it over the rocks; no momentary gleams of love to help it through its struggle; and the storms will rage fiercer and the sails will hang lower until, at last, it will go down, alone and unwept, never knowing the joy of living and never reaching the goal.
So let these ships, which have such a vast, such an unutterable influence, use that influence for brightening the encompassing gloom. Let them not be wrapped in their own selfishness or sorrow, but let their voice be filled with hope and love. For, by so doing, the waters of Life will grow smoother, and the signals will never flicker.
The inspired instrument lapsed from nerveless fingers; the author relaxed in her chair and sighed a deep sigh. All of a sudden she felt tired, tired; but it is a blessed weariness that comes after a divine frenzy has had its way with you.
Almost at once mother was there, rubbing her feet with towels, hustling her into bed.
“Now, you must keep covered up a while,” she said.
Missy was too happily listless to object. But, from under the hot blankets, she murmured:
“You can read the Valedictory if you want to. It's all done.”
Commencement night arrived. Twenty-odd young, pulsing entities were lifting and lilting to a brand-new, individual experience, each one of them, doubtless, as firmly convinced as the class Valedictorian that he—or she—was the unique centre round which buzzed this rushing, bewitchingly upsetting occasion.
Yet everyone had to admit that the Valedictorian made a tremendous impression: a slender girl in white standing alone on a lighted stage—only one person in all that assemblage was conscious that it was the identical spot where once stood the renowned Dobson—gazing with luminous eyes out on the darkened auditorium. It was crowded out there but intensely quiet, for all the people were listening to the girl up there illumined: the lift and fall of her voice, the sentiments fine, noble, and inspiring. They followed the slow grace of her arms and hands—it was, indeed, as if she held them in the hollow of her hand.
She told all about the darkness our souls sail through under their sealed orders, knowing neither course nor port—and, though you may be calloused to these trite figures, are they not solemnly true enough, and moving enough, if you take them to heart? And with that slim child alone up there speaking these things so feelingly, it was easy for Cherryvale in the hushed and darkened auditorium to feel with her...